108 Memories of Purple Rain and Journeys of Grass from Wood and Sea

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A very contrary September,wet Saturdays, sunny Sundays, hedgerows are now turning orange, leaves crisp and curl inwards, but a favourite of British gardens and urban walks still will be, as long as possible, the purple Buddlea.   Struggling through the disappearing hours of daylight as Autumn makes its way, it allows us to savour the memories of its vibrant best in highest summer. As violet’s intensity gradually distills to paler mauvey tones, it will still attract the butterflies and bees and be in total denial of any seasonal change. It seems that all Nature tries to  grasp and keep its youth for as long as possible, especially when it realises that even the best of youth has to change.

In Summer,  the grass is always greener, but when the sun is at its hottest and most life-giving, we yearn for the shade. Those enchanted hidden woods by oldest streams become our dream. Walking through that land, and being guided by the water, the story of ourselves becomes visible as river and wood make their exit to the sea.

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Follow that water out of the woods, over the rocks and into the sand.  As the tides part the rocks, salty flowers and gentle floating hairlines of seaweed waving gently on shorelines and rock pools, are but a few metres away from their own evolutions through the swirlings of acrid salt, light and time. These resulting structures which form Nature’s novel “Endeavours of Algaeic to Algebriac”, now sit in less than a few metres from each other, yet countless millions of years apart.

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Such a constant exposed clamber it was through solar wind, rain, sun and storm before reaching the patient guard of higher rocks and clifftop soil. Before our saltless green grass  grew up on “Jerusalem” hills, their feet in ancient time, dragged and pushed their identities as the lowliest harsh thorns and flattest lichen. As such, long, long before they could reach that silent watching place of Walter de la Mare’s  “forest’s ferny floor”, they were forced to be cruelly wretched.  Martyred before a green still peace could be possible, Flora’s evolution required pilgrims of chlorophyll just trying to find some solace on upper ground.

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Up on the cliffs, a strange coastal ‘eidelweiss looking’ dry flower in the C21st summer comes equipped with mathematical precision in its central dial.  Growing alongside its crisp clean dry creaminess, the business of wild, blackest juniper berries in small bushes and then just below, the impartial rock yellow succulents, neither water plant or hill grass.

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The whole scene becomes a triumph of summer coastline. I can touch it now. Watch the sea go out, watch the sea come in.  In the passing of an afternoon, just there in the sunshine, with a few hours a-wandering, the world can be summed up for much much more than a few moments in passing. Rising to the top of the cliff is now a land. Green perfection. Memories are made of this.

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© 2015 La Floralie


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62 February . Love’s-a-Planting-a-Rosebush-and-more

HOW MIGHT A ROSE’S LOVE LOOK IN THE WINTER?

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OR IS IT LIKE WINTER’S ROSE HIP?

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SHARP AND SPIKEY?

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NOT SOFT AS SUMMER’S BLOSSOMS?

Ah…But the thorniest stems do always produce the most perfumed fragrance.

However a rose’s beauty is not so easy to find….

Unwrap the scent of rose for fruit salad and cashew cream

Spring’s softness of petals, a lasting and intoxicating perfume, gentility and modesty in looks is shy. This blushing rose was taken from this very thorny bush last May.

It will be another few months before the world’s favourite flowers blossom in the UK for 2015.

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I walk past a particular garden very regularly and see the gardeners at their work sometimes. With diligent, daily care and silent, watchful attention,  all blossoms grew very prolifically in the same garden throughout 2014.

The roses were photographed in between the UK Summer showers. If you walk past a fragrant rose bush after the rain,  that is when they will auger the best for their natural scent. The vapours will just rise upwards and find you.

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This is the month for combining roses and love,  just like a rose, love sometimes needs its little helpers to create a flower or two.

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Why do the subtle powers of the rose, as with the power of Love, seem to require such great efforts? Those defensive thorny sharp stems and ugly shrivelled heads? Why must a Spring Beauty also be fated to have Winter’s Ugliness?

There might be some apparent deception going on, but this armoured protection exists for what the rose is really born to be – a royal flora. The sharpest guard of the rose, also provides valuable shelter to others in its service.

And whilst that shrunken head with drained colour and knarled skin would frighten an aphid’s to its’ worst nightmare  – that waxy head, has the most tightly sealed and sacred secrets, entrusted virtues and wise investments to oversee a new future in the Spring.

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Until then,  Life continues onward.  On the rose, and also within it, other little lives come in and out, helping this great petalled flora in its purpose. These lives are always in its service, but this is Nature’s community partnership at its very best and with mutual benefits to gift exchange.

A true petalled aristocrat, the rose is floral royal family. Yet everything in the flora is inter-dependent, not independent, or all plants would flounder, make a mess and eventually become extinct. Something a reigning monarch can not possibly consider.

What will 2015 blossom in the roses, when its season comes, to keep us all in the pink?

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MORE FOR THE OBSESSED

The following link was inspired whilst walking past the May roses, it aims to unlocks the scent and sensory experience.

https://lafloralie.wordpress.com/2014/05/30/unbottled/

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And for the very fond, the scented post, The Morning After

https://lafloralie.wordpress.com/2014/05/30/the-morning-after/

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Love and the rose, probably two of the very best evolutionary cycles Nature has ever created.


© 2015 La Floralie